


Seven Hours

by Bones (doctorbones)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Cassian's POV, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Married Couple, One Night Stands, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbones/pseuds/Bones
Summary: When Cassian's ship is stranded in dead space with failing life support, he's only got seven hours to figure out a way home to Jyn. Meanwhile, old memories of a nameless smuggler he met years ago resurface.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87





	Seven Hours

**Hour One**

His eyes burned. They could hardly stay open while he watched the stars pass by at FTL speeds. The ship rumbled familiarly under him. His seat was sculpted to his body at this point, and he could almost hear Jyn’s voice telling him to have the thing reupholstered. They weren’t soldiers anymore technically and had time for things like reupholstering. “Peacekeeper” was their official title, even if what they did was essentially the same. They were still spies, gathering intel on Imperial splinter cells to take them out. At least their job title came with government benefits now.

It was still a few hours to Yavin 4—the closest thing to home Cassian would probably ever get. Jyn was there already on shore leave, helping out with Poe. Ever since Shara died, Kes had been just this side of delicate. Cassian and Jyn tried to assist whenever they could, especially as Poe got older and developed what was turning out to be as fiery a personality as his mother’s. He was the closest Cassian and Jyn would get to a kid of their own anyway.

What Cassian would have done to hear his wife scold him. Months apart wasn't uncommon for them, especially before the Battle of Endor. He still felt her absence like a hole in his chest. Even after ten years, she could still undo him and put him back together at her whims. He still waited with bated breath for the moments they'd see each other again. Maybe they both should have taken Leia up on that offer for a senatorial position. He was almost 36 now, and the call for less excitement in his life was strong. Jyn felt it, too. Not so long ago they thought they'd be fighting the war forever. But the war was over now. Something sedentary grew more and more appealing the longer time went on.

He absently rubbed the kyber band on his left ring finger. It had a faint blue tint, but was mostly clear. Jyn had a matching one. They were cut from the same crystal—a gift from Luke over nine years ago. Sometimes Cassian thought he could feel when Jyn fiddled with her ring and wondered if she could feel when he fiddled with his.

He flexed his mechanical hand. The newest casing Jyn had made for his prosthesis was black polymer with the insignia of the New Republic emblazoned on the shoulder. Ever since he’d lost his right arm on Scarif, she’d insisted on tinkering with the replacement. He liked to joke that he had the most high-tech prosthesis in the galaxy, but that probably wasn’t far from the truth. Jyn had a mind for engineering like her father. She’d even designed her own prosthetic leg and eye, and regularly updated both.

He started at his hand with a sigh. The ship was too quiet. Its main cabin was empty, save for a trunk of clothes and a couple blasters. Usually Jyn went with Cassian on assignments, but Han had needed her to step up as colonel for Covert Forces while he and Leia took some much needed leave time with Ben. Jyn had been yelling at people from a desk for the past four months. She was probably just as happy to get away as he was. 

A horrible groaning noise shook the floor. He went rigid when the ship abruptly dropped out of hyperspace and drifted through the empty void. An alarm blared on his console. The display lit up with a temperature warning. He ran for the ladder at the back that led down to the cargo hold.

The engine was fixed to the far wall, a massive thing encased in a heat-resistant metal cylinder. Sparks flew out from the seams in the casing’s paneling. Smoke was rapidly filling the hold—toxic fumes that would soon fill the main cabin.

“Kriff,” he muttered and hurried back up the latter. 

He closed the hatch covering the entry hole to the cargo hold. The sharp _tzz_ of the sparks below made his stomach turn. The engine would blow if he didn’t get rid of the oxygen it needed to combust. He pressed the red button on the hatch.

“Cargo doors open,” an automated voice chimed over the ship’s speakers. The hiss of the cargo hold depressurizing sounded beneath him.

Cassian returned to the helm. The console informed him that the engine was dead, and all reserve power had been diverted to life support. It would last three hours. He’d have maybe four hours of oxygen left after the power ran out, assuming he didn’t freeze to death first. That was seven hours total to live.

On the bright side, the ship wouldn’t blow up. On the less bright side, Cassian was stranded in dead space. He was lightyears from any living thing, and the chances of a transmission reaching someone before life support failed were slim to none.

He collapsed into his chair and shoved a hand through his hair. One of the Imperial officers he’d arrested must have sabotaged his ship. Why hadn’t he checked? Such a stupid mistake. 

Kriff, he was getting too old for this.

#

_Then..._

The bar looked much like any other. The smell of alcohol, smoke, and rust hung in the air. A couple Twi’leks delivered drinks to the smattering of tables around the room. Every person sitting at the bar stared at their drink like their will to live might be at the bottom of the glass. It never was, but hope was persistent. 

Cassian sat by his lonesome at the counter, nursing the most tasteless glass of ale he’d ever encountered. He couldn’t separate himself from the people looking for their will to live in a bottle. The numbness that persisted through his body had only grown over the past ten years. He was barely twenty-four, and often felt like that was a few years too many. It was the same shit as always. He was a liar on the best of days. On the average, he was a thief. And on the worst, he was a murderer. What did he have to look forward to, day after day?

His eyes scanned the room, more out of habit than anything. These places allowed anonymity, with every person looking as shady as the next, but that did make it hard to distinguish who was actually worth noting or not. No one was looking his way, at least. He’d been doing his damndest to seem unassuming.

His jacket was a worn, muted brown. His curls hung messily atop his head, and he hadn’t bothered trying to style it in any way that seemed deliberate. A beard hid the lower half of his face. The stains in his pants were genuine. He hadn’t bothered trying to get them out. What was the point? He’d just find himself in another seedy hole like this, and they’d go right back to being stained. Besides, his slovenly appearance let him blend in.

He forced himself not to look at his watch again. His contact would be arriving soon. All he wanted was to get this over with, so he could go back to his ship and take a sonic. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen until he had the intel he needed about the Imperial armory on the south side of Malastare. The Alliance wanted the whole thing to be a crater in two days’ time, and that couldn’t happen unless he knew exactly where the kriffing thing was. His contact was a hacker of sorts, who would be able to give him coordinates. He didn’t actually know anything about the person, not even a name. They were referred by a friend of a friend of a friend’s cousin.

The sound of glass shattering brought his head up quickly, perhaps too quickly for the average person, and certainly the hand that came up to the blaster at his hip betrayed his military history. He dropped his hand as soon as he saw the source of the sound.

A human woman was stumbling between tables. Several patrons glared at her.

“Sorry, sorry,” she slurred and gestured toward the broken glass on the floor. “I’ll totally pay for that.”

She was either insane or very, very drunk. Cassian assumed the latter as he watched her totter around the bar and shoot suggestive glances at anyone who spared her a second of eye contact. This section of Malastare was a hub for smugglers and pirates. Everyone here was probably armed to the teeth. But she either didn’t know or didn’t care as she made her way through the smoke-dense room.

Cassian withheld a tired sigh when she stumbled directly into him, nearly knocking the ale from his hand. She staggered off his back and flopped onto the stool beside him.

“Hey,” she drawled, far too carefree for the circumstances.

He plastered a smile on his face and offered a “Hi.”

She smelled of oil and resin—a mechanic maybe. Her hair stuck out wildly from its bun, and her jacket had slipped down her shoulder, exposing a thin strap from the tanktop beneath. A black cloth covered the lower half of her face, concealing her mouth. If Cassian had bothered to look into her eyes, he would have noticed the sharpness of the hazel that betrayed her sobriety. It was a rookie mistake, but he hadn’t been looking for someone like her.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” she commented with her eyes crawling over him.

“Haven’t been around here before,” he admitted and sipped his ale.

She cocked her head to one side. “What’s your name?”

“Not your business.” He didn’t have time for this. His contact would be arriving any second now.

“Well, aren’t we uptight?” She leaned toward him with her chest pressed over the counter, exposing an ample amount of cleavage. 

Cassian resented the heat that rushed through him. He hadn’t let himself indulge in anyone for a long time, and his hand was only so satisfactory. But taking advantage of a drunk woman was not ever going to be on his long, long list of sins. 

She put a hand on his knee, making him tense. Her fingertips maintained light pressure while she leaned even closer. If he’d been paying attention to anything other than the touch, he might have noticed the lack of alcohol on her breath.

“I think you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for,” she murmured with an appreciative scan over his face. “No names needed.”

When her fingers trailed higher up his thigh, he didn’t know if he wanted to push her hand away or accept the offer. “I’m waiting for someone.”

She chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Hell of a place to meet.” Her hand traveled toward his hip. “I don’t mind adding a third, though.”

“Look, I—”

Before he could complete the thought, her lips came to his ear, separated by fabric, but he could still feel the softness of them.

“I suggest, Mister Aach,” she whispered, words warm on his skin, “that you come to my room with me. There are two men outside the entrance waiting to kill you.”

He was about to pull away when his training kicked in. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, and he pressed his cheek to hers. “How did you know my name?”

She hummed, sending vibrations down his neck. “I’ll give you back your scandocs in my room.”

It clicked then. The contact he’d been waiting for was right here.

“Is this how you foster trust?” he asked, wariness growing behind his chest. Clearly, she was no ordinary woman—a spy maybe, if her acting abilities were strong enough to fool him.

“You shouldn’t trust me.” She slid her fingers back down his thigh, making him gasp. “I know that’s a blaster in your pocket. People are rarely happy to see me and for good reason.”

He probably should have refused her offer. Chances were a shot in the back waited for him upstairs, but honestly, that didn’t seem so terrible. 

“Lead the way,” he murmured.

She stood with all the grace of a newborn dewback and pulled him by the hand toward the stairs at the back of the bar. A couple patrons gave him knowing smirks that he returned just for the sake of his cover, even if it made him feel slimy. 

The stairs led up to a hallway lined with doors. The floorboards creaked underfoot while the woman showed him to the last door on the right. He was half-expecting her room to be empty, but the space actually looked lived in, with clothes strewn across the floor and bedsheets hanging off the lone cot. A window was open to the night air. 

She closed the door after he stepped in, and all pretense of her drunkenness disappeared. Her back straightened. She looked at him with piercing eyes that seemed to stare into the deepest parts of him—as if she could see directly into the darkness behind the persona he’d crafted. 

“I overheard the men out front talk about killing an Aach,” she said quickly. “Either you’ve been betrayed or recognized. Either way, I don’t think it’s wise to exit the traditional route.”

He’d severely underestimated this woman, and that was either a show of her skill or his negligence. Maybe both.

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“Your contact.” She sighed and pulled her hair from its bun, allowing the brown waves to spill over her shoulders. “I found you easy enough, so that was nice. No one sent me anything about what you looked like, just your name.”

His eyes narrowed. So then how did she find him “easy enough”?

“Relax,” she said with a wave of her hand. “No one would notice you were a rebel spy unless they were one themselves.”

“Oh? Is that what you are?” He would neither confirm nor deny anything, and he suspected she’d do the same.

“You’re too young to look so comfortable in a place like this,” she observed, pointedly avoiding his question.

He arched a brow. “So are you.”

Her lips twitched. She pulled out his scandocs from a jacket pocket and handed them to him, along with a data card. “Your scandocs and coordinates. Now get out before I regret helping you.”

“And why are you helping me?” As his contact, she only had to give him the coordinates for the armory. If he died before or after, that was not her problem. He didn’t even know her. Maybe she was an Imperial spy, and he was about to step into a trap. The look she gave him wasn’t like that of an enemy, though. He liked to think he could see the hostility in people now, and her eyes were eerily familiar with a stare aged beyond her years—the same as his. 

“I assure you it’s for purely selfish reasons,” she said with a wink. “Go.”

He went to the window without further preamble and swung a leg through. She watched him with those knowing eyes while he climbed down the side of the building and into an alley. The night was quiet, save for the ambient chatter drifting out of the bar. Cassian pulled his hood over his head as he walked out onto the street, passing by a pair of men at the door. Blasters glinted under their coats. They didn’t take note of him. 

It was stupid to glance back at the woman’s window. What was he hoping for? But the shape of her shone through the glass. He suspected her stare would stay with him for a while.

**Hour Two**

_Now..._

He was arm deep in his console, wishing Jyn were here to show him how to do this. She was so much better at mechanical engineering. He could almost hear her berating him about comm functions and the clumsiness of his hands. And he did always defer to her judgement. She’d taught herself everything she knew.

Cassian had spent the past hour rewiring the ship’s existing comm system to run off a secondary power source. He didn’t want to use what little power he had in life support, but in order to get any kind of signal out, he had to get the comms running. So the system couldn’t be connected to the ship’s power. He still needed to figure out a battery, but this was the first step.

A box of tools that Jyn insisted he keep on the ship—one of many things she’d been right about—sat on the floor beside him. He’d opened the access panel in the control console to expose the mess of wires in it. His knees ached from sitting cross-legged for so long, and he almost resented that his mechanical hand was far more dexterous than his flesh one—entirely Jyn’s doing. Kriff, she’d give him the scolding of his life when he got home.

If he got home.

He shook his head to dispel that thought. If he could survive kriffing Scarif, he could survive this. Jyn would never forgive him if this was what finally got him.

He sighed when the last of the wires had been reorganized. Now to find a power source…

#

_Then..._

The armory was hidden in the thick of a forest. It was a large, domed structure—partially concealed by the vines covering it. Cassian almost missed it when he flew over. He’d donned an Imperial officer uniform and stolen the owner of the outfit’s skiff just for this mission. It was simple enough. Get in, set a fuse, get out. He’d be back at Yavin 4 within a few hours.

“Please state your business,” a voice said through his ship’s comm.

He pressed the transmission button and answered, “This is Lieutenant Kanel. I’m here for an inspection.”

The reply came back a little more rigidly. “Of course, lieutenant. We’ll have our sergeant out to take you through the grounds.”

That would be troublesome. “Don’t bother. I’m capable of getting around on my own.”

“O-Of course, sir.”

Cassian touched down in the clearing. A pair of stormtroopers came out to his ship as his entry ramp lowered. They gave salutes, which he returned. Years ago he might have been repulsed at giving an Imperial salute, but it was almost second nature now. Somethings felt like a defense more than anything. The pressed, gray uniform he wore was his armor and the salute, a shield—tools for his job.

“We weren’t expecting you, sirs,” one of the troopers said.

Cassian blinked at the pluralism until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Well, a surprise inspection wouldn’t be a surprise if we notified you,” she replied, her footfalls growing louder until she was at his side. 

He glanced at her askance. She’d donned a commander’s uniform, a deep blue that hugged her muscled figure. She still had on that face mask, but it didn’t seem out of place with the rest of her appearance. He figured she wore it like he wore a beard. People generally weren’t observant and something as simple as facial hair could act as a mask.

“The lieutenant and I,” she continued, “will be expecting a key to your facilities. Please go about your business and let us get on with ours.”

When she held out a hand, a trooper handed her a key card. He and his companion saluted again and headed toward the dome.

“How did you get on my ship?” Cassian whispered as he stepped forward with the woman. 

She pocketed the key card. “It’s not your ship.”

He resisted rolling his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

“Don’t see why I should, lieutenant.” She glanced up at him, hazel eyes shining. “But if you must know, I followed you and stowed away in the cargo hold. Figured you’re not the type to work with partners, and now you’ve got no choice.”

He probably should have been furious, or at the very least, worried. But honestly, he found her determination refreshing. Few people surprised him these days. 

When they stepped through the front door, a long stretch of metal hallway greeted them. There were several intersecting hallways, indicating the armory was set up in a grid system. Cassian didn’t really care. He just had to wander around for a couple minutes, and then plant a detonator somewhere. 

“So what are you doing here?” he asked as they headed down the main hallway together.

“Hoping to turn a profit, of course,” she said. “Everything in here could set me up nicely for a while.”

So she was an arms dealer then. That didn’t come as a surprise, but he did have a vested interest in who she sold her armaments to.

They turned down a hall and went through a door. The room was filled ceiling to floor with crates stamped with the codes for assault blaster rifles. 

“And who’s going to be paying for this excursion?” Cassian asked as they headed out to the next room.

She chuckled. “I don’t sell the Empire’s weapons back to them, so you can calm down about that. The Alliance and rebel splinter cells typically pay just fine.”

He wasn’t sure how much he could believe from another spy, especially one as competent as her, but she hadn’t tried to kill him...yet. 

They wandered from room to room, which took maybe fifteen minutes total. Stormtroopers stayed out of their way, as Cassian had hoped. The woman didn’t try to make conversation, just assessed her surroundings with those sharp eyes. She watched him wordlessly when he slipped a thermal detonator into a central room, and he didn’t say anything when she had a trooper put three crates of blasters on their ship as a “sampling.” They were back on the skiff again soon enough.

He took the pilot’s seat while she sat on the co-pilot’s side. Nothing passed between them still while he took off and headed over the forest trees, putting distance between them and the armory.

“So,” she started as the blast of the detonator going off shuddered through the air below them, “I’m going to need this ship.”

He turned to look at her, only to see the end of a blaster. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. He was off his game clearly.

The hint of a smile shone in her eyes, as he couldn’t see her mouth. “It’s nothing personal,” she added.

He let out a tired breath. “Can I at least get off in a city, so I can grab a new ship?”

“Seems fair.” 

She didn’t lower her blaster at all while he found a populated port and landed. He changed into civilian clothes with her watching his every move. It’d been a while since anyone had seen him without pants or a shirt, and despite his near non-existent modesty, the slightest flush burned in his chest and neck. Her eyes lingering over his form didn’t help at all.

“Who are you?” he asked, though he suspected he still wouldn’t get an answer.

She nodded toward the door. “Goodbye, Mister Aach.”

Her crates sat nearby. He slipped a tracker from a pocket of his pants and pressed it to a crate as he passed by. The door lowered open for him when she hit a button on the control console. He headed down onto the port’s tarmac, and the door closed behind him. 

A burning curiosity filled his chest as he watched her take off. His work ensured he encountered all sorts. No one he’d met had been quite like her.

He took a datapad from inside his jacket and opened to a screen with tracking coordinates. They’d meet again if he had anything to say about it. 

**Hour Three**

_Now..._

Life support was going to shut off any minute now, and he’d be left with whatever heat and oxygen was in the cabin. The comm system was up and running, though, sending out a distress signal to whoever was listening. He’d taken the batteries from the couple of blasters he had to power the transmission. They weren’t very strong, however—meant mostly to ignite the blaster’s laser emitter in sharp bursts. They’d die in about twenty minutes, and then he’d have to figure something else out.

He rummaged through the emergency kit he kept under the pilot’s seat and pulled out two thermal blankets. In two hours, the temperature could drop to as low as minus twenty, and in two more hours, that temperature would approach minus sixty and keep declining. The thermal blankets might be able to keep him alive for that long. After four hours, though, oxygen levels would be low enough that he’d have moderate to severe hypoxia. 

He held the blankets around him and settled in his chair. The stars filled his view outside the windscreen. During the war, he’d always thought he’d go out amongst the stars, even dreamed of it sometimes. Jyn had once told him that she imagined the same for herself. Her father’s nickname for her, Stardust, would have been apt then.

Was she looking up at the stars now, waiting for him? They used to do that, back in the war. Whenever they could, they waited for each other—in odd hangars and on rebel stations. No matter how much distance separated them, somehow they found each other again. It was one of the few constants in Cassian’s life that he’d come to expect.

An intangible weight fell on his finger beneath the kyber ring, and he imagined Jyn worrying her own while she looked to the sky for a ship that wouldn’t be coming. His eyes squeezed shut against tears as he pressed his ring to his lips. What he would have given to hold her again, look into her eyes, bask in the light of her smile, let her laugh warm his body. 

The comm display abruptly went dark. He cursed and crouched over the wiring wrapped around the last blaster battery pack. It was dead. His eyes scanned the cabin for anything else. The lights were all dark. The datapad in his jacket wouldn’t carry a charge strong enough. 

He glanced down at his mechanical arm. It had its own power source, a strong one if he remembered what Jyn had told him correctly. He opened the panel in his bicep and pulled out the wiring connecting the battery to his arm. The whole prosthesis went limp and numb in an instant, but it wasn’t like he was going to need two arms to survive. 

He pulled the comm wires up to his shoulder and wrapped them around the correct ports. The comm display lit up again with a message about re-enabling transmission. He wasn’t sure how long the battery in his arm would last, but chances were that by the time it died, no one would be close enough to get to him in time anyway.

Jyn was always saving him like this, in ways he didn’t expect. She had during the war, and she was now. He pressed his left hand to his chest and prayed she might be able to feel his heartbeat through the kyber that connected them.

#

_Then..._

The tracker got lost somewhere on one of many smuggling routes, and Cassian had neither the time nor will to go looking for it. The woman had been an enigma in his life. He was willing to leave it at that. Besides, tensions were picking up between the Empire and the Alliance, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted. 

The Alliance needed him to get some high-grade scandocs for an assignment on Ord Mantell as a government agent. His contacts had all directed him to the same person—someone who went by Nari McVee. She was apparently the best forger this side of the Mid Rim, which was why he found himself on Cerea.

It was beautiful, with sprawling jungles, but there was hardly any civilization. Mostly Cerea was used as a port for smugglers between more populated planets in the Mid Rim. The nameless city Cassian found himself in was no more than a couple of vine-covered buildings in the middle of dense, humid jungle. The people here didn’t make eye contact as they passed in the street. Their heads were either bowed or covered, and Cassian was no better with his hood low while he walked the dirt path between buildings.

The place he was looking for was on the very outskirts of the city. It was little more than a shack with cracks running through its stone walls and a door that didn’t hang quite right on its hinges. 

He reluctantly went in. The interior was much the same as the exterior. Dusty, wood floorboards creaked beneath his boots. The cracks in the walls had been lazily plastered over. A single counter sat near the back with one woman in front of it.

He lifted his blaster at the same time she did. Her hazel eyes were sharp as ever, and the cloth covering the lower half of her face looked much the same as he’d seen it last time.

“Hunting me?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve got better things to do than hunt one smuggler,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re Nari McVee.”

Her blaster lowered slowly, and he followed suit. They both holstered their weapons.

“I suppose you’re Willix,” she said with a sigh. “No hard feelings about stealing your ship, right?”

Well, it hadn’t been his ship, and he’d acquired a different one easily enough. He couldn’t give a shit that she’d stolen the other one. But opportunities were opportunities.

“I think you owe me a discount on those scandocs," he said.

She glowered at him a moment. “Fine.”

The door burst open. Cassian resisted going for his blaster immediately when he saw the stormtroopers. There were no exits here, and he wasn’t interested in being shot on sight.

“Nari McVee,” the leading stormtrooper said. “You’re under arrest.”

Well, that would put a crimp in Cassian’s plans. “I think you’re mistaken, sir,” he said quickly. “That’s not Nari. She’s my wife.”

Like a true professional, the woman sidled up to Cassian and slid an arm around his. “We were just looking for Nari,” she said with a slight whine to her voice, like she was upset. “She owes us a debt.”

“Scandocs,” the trooper demanded.

Cassian immediately pulled out the falsified ones he always carried, and the woman pulled out her own, which were doubtlessly also forged. The trooper took them and scanned the codes on the front. He sighed when he was done and handed back the scandocs.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he grumbled and motioned for the other troopers to leave.

Cassian headed out after them with the woman still on his arm. “What name should I use for you?” he whispered when they were on the street.

She glanced to the side. “Tanith. You?”

“Joreth.”

“They’re following us.” Her grip on his arm was tight. “We need to wait them out before we leave.”

He nodded and looked around for somewhere non-descript to waste time in. People brushed past them, their chatter nearly drowning out the footfalls of the troopers. Tanith pulled him into a building. 

It was much like the bar they’d first met in, with just as many shady patrons and sour expressions. There were fewer people since it was the middle of the day, but no one looked up from their drinks or conversation when Cassian and Tanith stepped in. They slid into a booth that was visible from the door as well as a window. If the troopers wanted to spy on them, they’d get a show.

A waitress came up to their table. They both ordered ale, an inoffensive drink that didn’t have that much alcohol, and the waitress left. Tanith sat pressed against Cassian, almost in his lap. He tried to ignore the feel of her warmth against him and the firm muscle hiding beneath her clothes. This was an act. He couldn’t get distracted now.

“How long you think they’ll stick around?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him like it was natural, like she’d done this with him a hundred times. “Don’t know, but we don’t have to stay here terribly long. They have no proof that Nari McVee is a real person, and because she isn’t, they can’t very well attribute her identity to mine. I just need not to look suspicious for awhile.”

He pressed his face to her hair. The scent of oil and resin still clung to her. “It’ll look weird if I leave without you, as your alleged husband,” he whispered. “You’ll have to come with.”

“Oh? What a gentleman.” She craned her head back to look at him. Their faces were inches apart.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had been this close to him. The smell of caf lingered on her breath. Her chest was pressed to his, and she had a hand on his hip. This was the oldest trick in the book, he reminded himself—seduce and manipulate. What did she want from him, though? It didn’t really matter, he supposed. The damning part of seduce-and-manipulate was the second portion, and he refused to let himself succumb to her ploys. 

The waitress returned with the ale and set the glasses on the table wordlessly. Cassian didn’t even spare her a glance, transfixed on the hazel eyes holding his. Just who was this woman? She clearly had training. Her manner wasn’t rigid enough to be ex-Empire, so she had to be a former rebel. Maybe even a current rebel. The Alliance probably would have told him if she were their agent, so she had to be (or been) part of a splinter cell.

His thoughts were momentarily derailed when she slid a hand under his shirt to rest at his waist. That wasn’t strictly necessary for maintaining appearances. Her hand was under the table, out of view. 

Two could play at that game.

He dropped his head to brush his lips against her neck. “Something you want from me?” he whispered. “I don’t plan on letting you steal my ship again.”

She chuckled, and her nails gently dragged over his abdomen, making him gasp. “Maybe I just like the sounds you make.”

If it was sex she was after, then he really was in trouble. This was one of very few instances where he actually had the time to indulge himself. The Alliance wouldn’t expect him back immediately, and she was right here with time to kill.

But she was also a spy he knew nothing about. That made her dangerous. 

“How do you know I’m not a threat to you?” he asked, trying to gauge just how much forethought she’d put into her advances.

“I don’t.” Her fingers flirted with the top of his pants.

He caught her hand before it could wander anywhere else. “I don’t trust you.”

She hummed, the vibrations running through where his lips pressed to her neck. “Smart man.”

Was she playing him or just reckless? That he didn’t know was further evidence for why getting close was a bad idea.

“As soon as we finish our drinks," he whispered, "we're leaving."

She sighed and lifted her free hand to slide her fingers into his hair. "Then you better make it look good, _husband_."

The tug on his hair made heat shoot down his spine, and he retaliated by dragging his teeth over her neck. The moan that escaped her did little for his restraint. Kriff, even when he was the one drawing a reaction from her, she still had him under her effect.

"Drink," he all but growled. 

She extricated her fingers from his hair and her hand from his, but she didn't move far from him while she grabbed her drink from the table. 

"Those scandocs," she said evenly, "the ones you requested, are some of the best I've made. What are you going to use them for?"

He took his drink and tried not to glower at her since he was supposed to be her husband. "That's classified."

"Mmhm." She lifted the bottom of her mask to sip her drink. "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the upcoming governors' summit on Ord Mantell, would it?"

He didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. "And what would you know about that?"

The bottoms of her eyes lifted like she was smiling. "Well, I'll be appearing at the summit as a weapons development investor, and I think my cover would have more credence on the arm of Director Willix."

Kriff, everything she did was to use him for her own gains. Still, her logic was sound. They could do better together than they would on their own. She was an extra pair of eyes and ears, and he knew she was competent enough to get the kind of info he needed.

"And what do you need while you're there?" he asked and sipped his drink. "More weapons?"

"Shipment times and locations for them, yes." She sipped her drink again. "I assume you're there to get intel on the governors themselves. Anything in particular you want on them?"

He shrugged. "Plans of attack, where funds are going, weapons research."

"Things you'd need to know if you were waging war." She said the words almost bitterly, a flaw in her veneer. 

"Something you have against the war?" he prompted, just to see her reaction.

She stared at her drink. "Can't say that I do. It keeps me in business."

He knew a lie when he heard one, but didn't probe her. She probably wouldn't give him an honest answer anyway.

They worked out the specifics of their joint cover while they sipped their ale. She never took off her mask, always lifting it just enough to drink but not show more than her chin. He guessed that she was trying to limit how many people could recognize her, so when she did take the mask off, she was just as unrecognizable. 

Two lives. Neither of them real. Just like him. 

They eventually made their way out of the bar, arms linked together the way they'd come in. The troopers were nowhere to be seen, but Cassian didn't trust his eyes. So he kept Tanith close to him on the way through the streets. 

The place he'd landed could hardly be called a port, but it was paved over and flat. His ship sat amongst a small group of others. It was a shuttle meant for long trips that he always took on involved assignments, like the one on Ord Mantell. He'd been planning to meet with Mothma and Draven before going to Worlport, but kriff it, he could just send them a transmission. Something told him that Tanith would be spooked if he took her to meet anyone in the Alliance, much less a senator and general.

He slid the side door open and climbed into the main cabin. She followed hesitantly, as if afraid of what waited for her inside. K-2SO stood from the co-pilot's chair and fixed a look on Tanith. She had a hand under her jacket, which Cassian assumed was where she had a blaster. 

"Who is this?" K-2SO asked with a note of disapproval. 

"You have an Imperial droid," she said, eyes never leaving him.

Cassian sighed and closed the door. "K, this is Tanith. She made the scandocs we'll need, and she's accompanying us to Ord Mantell. Tanith, this is K. He's been reprogrammed for our purposes."

She slowly withdrew her hand from her jacket. "Anymore surprises?"

"Yes, anymore surprises?" K-2SO prompted with a look at Cassian. 

There were two kriffing smart mouths now. Cassian wasn't paid enough for this. He just let out a tired breath and sat in the pilot's chair at the helm. K-2SO returned to the co-pilot's seat. 

"Why is she coming with us to Ord Mantell?" K-2SO asked while he charted a course. 

Cassian started up the engines. "Because she's good at what she does, and we can help each other."

"This is a bad idea. What's Draven going to say?"

"Nothing. We're not telling him. Also, don't talk about business or anything else in front of her." The last thing Cassian needed was information on the Alliance to touch that woman's ears, especially if she thought she could profit off it. 

K-2SO tilted his head slightly. "Oh, sure. That shows how much we can trust her."

"Just navigate, K."

"Do you know the odds of her shooting us in the back?"

Cassian took the ship up and headed for the sky. 

"They're high," K-2SO said. "Very high."

Tanith's chuckle made Cassian glance back. She'd situated herself on a bench in the back, arms crossed over her chest with a lazy lean against the wall—like she hadn't a care in the world. 

"What's so funny?" Cassian asked.

She pulled her hair from its tie, letting it fall around her face. "I wouldn't shoot you in the back."

He arched a brow. "Oh?"

"The head has a higher chance of fatality."

He turned his eyes back to the windscreen just as they breached atmo, revealing a field of stars. "You're not making a good case to keep you around."

She hummed tersely. "Well, I'm outnumbered and at your mercy, sir."

Cassian didn't think she was the type to be at the mercy of anything.

"Ready to jump," K-2SO announced. 

Cassian launched them into hyperspace and then looked back at Tanith again. "It's eight hours to Worlport," he said. "Behave yourself."

She shrugged. "If you insist." Her cheeks lifted. "So tell me again how we fell in love, Mister Willix."

**Hour Four**

_Now..._

Cassian was thankfully not as cold as anticipated while wrapped in his thermal blankets. His breath formed puffs in the air now. Bits of frozen condensation crept along the edges of the windscreen.

The pressure on his ring finger had grown stronger over the last hour. He wasn't sure if that was due to the cold or echoes of Jyn's touch through the connection. Perhaps she was just now realizing that he was late. He should have been home right about now, wrapped in her arms.

What would she do if he never made it? She was strong. He was sure she'd mourn him for a time and then push on with her life, as she had with everything else. Maybe she'd finally accept control over all of Covert Forces like Han wanted. Somehow he couldn't imagine her as a diplomat like Leia wanted. Jyn's way of dealing with problems tended to involve either a blaster or a fist.

Perhaps she hadn't noticed at all yet that he was late. It'd be around dinner time on Yavin 4. She could have been sitting at the table with Kes and Poe now, eating and chatting. She would have saved Cassian a portion of food for when he got in, and after they were done eating, she'd make Poe clean up with her since she was determined to give him as many life skills as possible. Maybe she'd even made him help with cooking.

Cassian wrapped his blanket closer as his chest ached. She would have been a good mother. He supposed she could still be, if they adopted. But that would probably require retiring from their current positions. Espionage wasn't a good environment for a child. They'd even agreed to get desk jobs when they started a family. 

A year of failing to conceive had eventually led them to a clinic where they found out the radiation from the blast on Scarif had rendered them both sterile. The devastation Cassian had felt that day took him by surprise. In all his years up to that point, he'd never even considered children, but having the possibility stolen from him, the distinct absence of that future with Jyn, hurt worse than anything he'd endured in the war. 

Jyn had cried. She never cried.

He promised himself to have another conversation with her about adoption if he made it back. They both deserved a rest from the fight. It'd already stolen their youth and scarred their minds with its horrors. They could get cushy desk jobs and move into Kes' colony officially.

He just had to make it back to her.

The minutes ticked away in silence, and he almost didn't notice when he started dozing.

#

_Then…_

The amount of crystal chandeliers was, quite frankly, excessive. They floated along the vaulted ceiling of the capital hall, glinting with gold light. The walls were almost entirely glass, with sepia ribs holding the structure together. Stars hung over the Worlport skyline. People in finery wandered through the room, chatting while they waited for the next presenter to start the summit's next session. 

Cassian had flagged down the governor of a large city on Ord Mantell, who Tanith had called a "petty dictator." The old governor was a gruff man, whip-thin with a permanent scowl. All Cassian had to do to get the man talking was mention an interest in investing in weapon's research. The governor was giving him all sorts of information about his investments in weaponizing kyber. Mothma and Draven would be very interested to know about that.

"And you would not believe the kind of people Krennic hired," the governor continued, going on a diatribe about some engineering team. "They have the worst manners."

"Ah, good manners are in short supply these days," Cassian agreed easily.

"It's just bad breeding." The governor waved a frustrated hand. "We shouldn't be letting these children of riffraff anywhere near government positions."

Cassian nodded. "It's truly a crime."

"I just— Oh, who is this?"

Tanith emerged from between a pair of governors. She'd done her hair into elaborate twists, and her dress hugged every curve of her figure. It was plain black with gold embroidery down one side of the skirts. The covering over the lower half of her face was a loose, translucent square of fabric. Dark kohl lined her hazel eyes, making them stand out even more. She was striking and stood tall like she belonged amongst all the government officials around them. Cassian would never admit that just looking at her made him feel breathless.

"Governor Syvan," he said with a smile, "if I may introduce my wife, Tanith."

She held out a hand to the governor who took it. His lips lingered too long on her fingers, and a dark knot of protectiveness bubbled up in Cassian's gut. He pushed it down because he had no reason to feel anything for her, and more importantly, he couldn't afford to let his feelings get in the way of maintaining his cover.

"Lovely to meet you, governor," she said with the hint of a smile beneath her veil. "Willix is quite a fan of your work. Strict adherence to values is unfortunately lacking, and we admire your dedication to tradition."

The lies fell so easily off her lips. Cassian tried and failed not to be impressed.

The governor lowered her hand. "Well, I do my best, Mistress Tanith," he said. "I was actually just speaking with your husband about the unfortunate lack of manners in our government agencies."

She furrowed her brows, but not dramatically so, maintaining a look of delicacy. "Oh, my. Yes, I've noticed. Bad breeding, I'd say."

Cassian guessed she'd been listening in on the conversation before she'd come into it.

The governor's eyes lit up. "I'm so glad you share my opinion."

Tanith rested a hand on Cassian's arm. "Perhaps we can discuss it more later," she said gently. "I'm afraid I need to steal my husband away for a moment. I just received some bad news about one of our research facilities."

"Of course. Please attend to your business." The governor bowed his head. "Do find me again."

Cassian tried to make his smile warm and not wolfish. "We certainly will, governor." He let Tanith pull him away. 

They slipped through crowds of people until they found a relatively quiet corner. She pulled him down by the front of his suit until she could reach his ear. 

"I'm going to speak with Governor Jasta," she whispered. "He's a well-known rapist and molester, so I might need you to intervene if things get out of hand."

He rested a hand on her waist—for appearance purposes, of course. "I'll watch from a distance." He paused a moment, something cold filling his chest. "Be careful."

Her chuckle brought warm breath to his neck. "Worried about me?"

"Yes," he said honestly before he thought better of the idea.

She was quiet a long moment and then brought her hand up to cup his cheek. He let her pull his face toward hers until their lips brushed together, just separated by the fabric over her face. Her breath was warm. It mingled with his, letting him taste the wine she'd drank earlier. He held her eyes. There was no guardedness in her stare, just warmth and something he might have dared to call desire.

"I'm a bad idea," she murmured, lips brushing his as she spoke.

He withheld a shiver. "I'm acutely aware."

Her fingers swept down his jaw. "So why humor my impulses?"

That was a question he suspected he'd never have an answer to, and she didn't seem to expect one. Her warmth disappeared when she stepped back. 

"Keep watch," she whispered before slipping into the crowd.

Cassian kept to the fringes of the room, eyes fixed on her while she waded through people. The governor she was looking for was a stout man near the center. As soon as he saw her, a wide grin broke across his face, making Cassian want to head over immediately. But he restrained himself. She knew what she was doing. 

She and the governor talked for a while. She stepped just a little closer every minute or so until she was nearly pressed against him. He eventually wrapped an arm around her waist and started leading her toward the edge of the room. She had a hand on his chest and an uneasy smile.

Cassian moved quickly, but not fast enough to plow anyone over. He got to Tanith just as she reached the steps leading up to the archives—a secluded area that would doubtlessly have no one around. 

"Tanith," he said with as kindly a smile as he could muster. "There you are. I was wondering where you'd wandered off to."

She was rigid in the governor's hold. "Ah, Willix," she said with a slight tremor to her voice. "Sorry, I got caught up with speaking to Governor Jasta."

Cassian's hand itched to grab his blaster, but he bowed to Jasta with a smile. "It's lovely to meet you, governor. I trust my wife has been kindly."

Jasta withdrew his hand from Tanith's waist. She stepped back, arms drawn closer to her body. Cassian had to swallow the rage in his chest.

"We were just speaking about your business with research investments," Jasta said with a guffaw. "She spoke very much of you."

Probably in an attempt to get Jasta to back off. 

Cassian offered a hand to Tanith. She took it readily, and he pulled her closer. 

"Well, if you wouldn't mind excusing us," he said as pleasantly as possible. "I'm afraid we promised to speak with Governor Syvan before the night gets too late."

"Ah, yes. Syvan does go on." Jasta bowed his head. "Perhaps another time then."

"Perhaps." Cassian pulled Tanith away again, getting lost in the crowd.

She slid an arm around his, practically clinging to him. "Thank you," she whispered, sounding uncommonly small. 

He put a hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. "Are you all right?"

"I will be." She chewed her lip a moment. "He just kept talking about things he wanted to do to me. Kriff, I hate men like that."

Cassian squeezed her hand. "I'm not going to let him near you while we're here."

She glanced at him askance. "Compassion isn't for people like us. I could hurt you."

He didn't think he'd mind getting hurt by her. "That remains to be seen."

She didn't offer a rebuttal. They wandered through the room together, talking to anyone and everyone who was important. Their arms remained linked the whole time. When the summit resumed and a presenter took to the center of the room, Cassian pulled Tanith out the front door. They'd gotten what they needed.

There was an obscene amount of steps down to street level. Tanith held onto him for balance as she descended in stiletto heels. He was sorely tempted just to carry her, but that wouldn't have been proper. They weren't free to drop their pretenses just yet. 

The night air was cool. A metal city stretched out ahead of them, lit with thousands of street lights. They'd return to his ship, change, and debrief. Cassian didn't know what happened after that. He'd have to return to the Alliance, and he doubted she'd want to go with him. 

When they finally got to the bottom of the stairs, they hailed a cab to the space port. The back of the car smelled vaguely of cigarettes, and the droid driving looked like it hadn't been cleaned since it'd been built. Cassian felt far more comfortable here than he had amongst the finery of the summit.

"Here," Tanith said a moment before she pressed a data disc to his hand. 

He pocketed it. "What's this?"

She had a wry smile. "A trade for the dinner you're going to buy me later."

"Oh? And what makes you think there's going to be a later?"

"I can't reveal my secrets."

The cab pulled up to the space port station entrance—a blocky structure that towered over every other building nearby. Cassian paid the driver before he got out with Tanith. The space port was open at all hours, and it was always busy, ensuring they had to wind their way through a throng of people just to get to the gates.

They eventually got onto the port tarmac and made their way between rows of parked ships to his. K-2SO was waiting for them. 

"Get what you needed?" he asked when Cassian slid open the door.

"I believe so," Cassian muttered and grabbed Tanith's hand to help her into the cabin. Her dress and heels were a hindrance. 

They wordlessly stripped out of their clothes. Cassian forced himself not to stare, but he did note the toned abdominal muscles and numerous scars on Tanith. Her bra and underwear were black like her dress, contrasting starkly with her fair complexion. She pulled on olive green pants and a tan shirt, earth tones that wouldn't draw attention.

He dressed in his usual stained pants and a black shirt, as inoffensive as her clothes. Tonight was the nicest he'd dressed in many months, and he suspected she was no different. Standing out meant death for them. 

"I got what I wanted," she said as soon they were dressed. "Did you get what you came for?"

He nodded. "I'd still like to hear whatever you picked up, too."

She listed off some things she'd heard, most of them about weapons shipments and routes. There was some more pertinent information concerning plans to assault rebel-controlled planets, which he recorded on a data pad. And when she was done talking, she opened the shuttle door. 

"Until next time," she said, almost like a promise, and walked out into the night. 

**Hour Five**

_Now..._

It was so cold. Cassian's breaths came faster, though he tried to slow down. There just wasn't enough oxygen left. Every inhale was unsatisfactory, and the pulsing tingle in his limbs indicated he wasn't expelling enough carbon dioxide. He shivered in his thermal blankets. His breaths formed distinct puffs in the air. 

He held a datapad on his knees since they were drawn up to his chest. Photos and old videos lit on the screen. The first was of Jyn, lying on a beach with red sand. She wore a black bikini, displaying all her muscle and...and scars. She had burn scars on her right side—the side that had faced the blast on Scarif. He had mirrored ones on his left. There was even an outline of the other's arms in their scars where they'd held each other.

The next photo was of her holding a newborn Poe. He was so tiny in her arms. She and Cassian had offered to look after Poe while Shara and Kes slept. Shara had been in labor for nearly thirty-eight hours, and she and Kes had been awake that whole time. Two days later, Jyn had told Cassian that she wanted to have kids one day. He'd never looked forward to something so much.

The next image was of them in the hangar bay of Hoth. He was putting the kyber ring on her finger while damn near every rebel at the base watched. Luke had cut the kyber crystal himself, and he never said how he found it. Mothma stood behind Jyn and Cassian, officiating their wedding. They wore their uniforms, nothing fancy, which turned out to be the right choice since an hour later they had to respond to a distress signal.

Cassian flipped to the next in the series. It was a video. Jyn stood in Kes' and Shara's dining room. She covered her face with a hand, but her smile peeked between her fingers.

"You're all the worst," she muttered with a chuckle. 

Kes brought out a badly frosted cake from the edge of the frame and set it on the table. Shara's voice came from off camera. 

"It's your birthday!" she said. "We wanted to surprise you!"

Jyn's face was bright red. "You know I hate surprises." But she was obviously delighted, albeit embarrassed. 

"Well, you can blame Cass for telling us," Kes said with a grin. 

Cassian came in from the frame's edge and rested his hands on Jyn's hips. She lowered her hands from her face then and looked up at him. Her right eye wasn't the same color as the left. She'd altered her prosthesis, so now it was entirely black, no white.

"Happy birthday," Cassian murmured with a smile.

She narrowed her eyes before standing on her toes to give him a quick kiss. "I'm going to get you back for this."

He chuckled. "I look forward to it."

The video ended. Cassian flipped to the next one in the series. It was another video, this one of him carrying Poe on his shoulders. The kid must have been four or five at this point. A forested background suggested they were at the edge of the woods surrounding the Dameron house. Jyn stood beside Cassian, a frown on her face.

"You're going to drop him," she warned. 

"Drop!" Poe squealed and wriggled on Cassian's shoulders. His black waves bounced wildly on his head with the movement.

Jyn laughed when Cassian's expression turned from amused to panicked. He struggled to right himself with Poe's movements. 

"Sweetie," she said and put a hand on Poe's shoulder, stilling him. "Do you know what happens if you fall?"

Poe looked down at the ground. "Get hurt?"

She nodded. "And then your parents won't let us play with you anymore."

Poe's eyes got big. "Want to play with Auntie Jyn and Uncle Cass!"

"We want to play with you, too, but you've got to be safe, okay?"

"Yes, auntie." Poe slipped his little hands into Cassian's hair. "Uncle Cass okay?"

"I'm all right, buddy," Cassian said and adjusted Poe on his shoulders. "But now I've got to run from auntie!" 

"Cass, no!" Jyn called, but it was too late. 

The video cut out just as Cassian sprinted away.

He smiled at the memory. Poe was too big now to carry on his shoulders, but it had been the kid's favorite thing.

The last image in the series was one he'd taken. Jyn lay on the guest bed that she and Cassian shared in the Dameron house. Poe was curled in her arms. They were both asleep, faces relaxed and peaceful. Kes and Shara had gone out on business for Leia, but Poe had a nightmare while Jyn and Cassian were watching him. The kid had climbed into their bed in the middle of the night. He must have been six at least. And when Cassian had awoken, he'd been greeted with the sight of Poe in Jyn's arms. 

His chest hurt. Maybe it was the oxygen deprivation or maybe it was fear. He forced himself to breathe deeply, though it did little to relieve him. The air was just too thin now. 

He looked through the image series again.

#

_Then..._

The data disc she'd given him had a host of information concerning a massive arms deal on Corellia. Draven sent Cassian and a team to stop the deal altogether, and because they had everything they needed (times, location, key players), the whole thing had taken five minutes. Cassian's team had placed a thermal detonator on the ship meant to take the weapons to an Imperial base, and several more detonators around the trade location left all the Imperial officers involved nothing more than ash. 

That was how Cassian found himself on a shadowed, dirty street near the space port. Corellia's architecture could only be described as hostile—nothing but tin buildings with sharp edges. Rain never seemed to stop here. It came down in sheets, dampening his hair. 

His team had already gone ahead to the space port, and he'd told them not to wait for him. There was a bar, looking much like any other in the galaxy, near the port. Cassian knew what to expect before he stepped into the crowded room with smoke-dense air. Everyone here looked down at their drinks, refusing to make eye contact. All except for one. 

She sat at the bar, nursing a glass of ale. Her eyes found his as soon as he crossed the threshold. She still wore a face cover, but it couldn't conceal the smile in her eyes.

He took a seat on the empty stool next to her. The droid manning the bar slid up to him. 

"What can I get you?" it asked. 

He glanced at the woman. "Ask her. I owe her dinner."

Her eyes glinted with mischief and warmth. "I'll take that soup special," she said to the droid.

Cassian held up two fingers. "Make that two please."

The droid slid away. 

"Where'd you get that disc?" he asked with a smile that surprised him with its genuineness. 

She tapped her nails on her glass, making soft clinks. "Well, as unpleasant as it was to get that close to Jasta, it was necessary to lift his data from his breast pocket."

He recalled how she'd lifted his scandocs the first time they'd met. He hadn't even noticed. "When did you leave the rebellion?" he asked, not expecting a response, but curious anyway. 

She lifted her face cover slightly to sip her ale. "It's been about three years now."

Honesty wasn't what he expected, and he was momentarily too stunned to reply. 

"How long have you been in Alliance Intelligence?" she asked lightly. 

He chuckled. "Am I that obvious?"

She shook her head. "I'm trained to look for it. You're pretty good actually." She tapped her nails some more on her glass. "Let me guess. You're a...captain?"

He shook his head, not knowing that Draven was going to promote him to captain in a month. "And you joined the rebellion as a teen?" She seemed the sort to recklessly join a fight she wasn't prepared for.

She shook her head. "Grew up in it—same as you, I'm pretty sure."

That she was right about.

The droid returned with two bowls of soup. Cassian tried some. It wasn't the most flavorful, but it was warm.

"Why did you come here?" he asked as he swirled his spoon through the broth.

She didn't reply immediately, staring at her bowl. "I'm not sure. To see this to the end maybe."

His heart sank at that, which was truly foolish. He was a spy, and he would be to the completion of this war or himself. There was no room in his life for her. 

"The end of what exactly?" he asked, but he knew the answer. 

She leaned closer until her chest pressed to his shoulder, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath. "It was always going to be this way," she whispered. "Will you give me this night?"

He let himself lift a hand to cup her jaw and smoothed a thumb over her cheek, feeling the give of it beneath her mask. "I don't even know your name."

"Would you give me yours, if I asked?"

His silence gave her the answer.

She pressed her forehead to his. "One night."

And then they'd say goodbye.

They ate their soup slowly, as if to draw out the little time they had together. And when they finished eating, she took his hand and led him to a room upstairs. It had one bed. Moonlight from a window illuminated the messy, red sheets. Clothes were piled together in a corner. The floorboards creaked underfoot, almost familiarly. It was dark enough that Cassian could barely make out anything inside, but he didn't bother looking for a light switch.

She closed the door behind him. As soon as he heard it click shut, he turned. Her face was concealed with the shadows of the evening, but he could make out her eyes, staring up at him. His heart pounded in his chest at the novelty of this. He'd never allowed himself to care about someone, much less someone he really knew nothing about.

"Don't think," she whispered a moment before pulling her mask off. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down. 

The first touch of lips brought heat rushing through him. It'd been so long since he'd kissed anyone, and her mouth was soft and warm. He tried to restrain himself from the urge to drive her into the wall. She was still tugging at his jacket, though, like she wanted more. Kriff, how could someone make his head spin like this?

She moaned when his tongue brushed the seam of her lips, and his tenuous hold on himself snapped. He pushed her into the door, keeping their mouths together. A little cry of surprise escaped her. He swallowed the sound and sucked her bottom lip between his teeth.

His hands came to her waist, pulling her to him even as his body pinned hers to the door. She threaded her fingers into his hair, and he let out a moan at the small tug she gave it. His mind blanked when he felt her tongue slide over his, invading his mouth. 

More. He needed more.

His hands hooked under her thighs, lifting her slighter figure easily. She gasped into his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold onto him while he carried her to the bed. 

They paused when he laid her underneath him. Both of them were breathing heavily. Cassian's heartbeat thundered in his ears while he stared down at her. His hand was unsteady in sweeping her hair back from her forehead. Words they'd never say passed between them as she held his eyes—a silent acknowledgement of what was and could never be.

He kissed her softly this time. An ache formed in his chest as her lips drew him in. After tonight, they'd never see each other again. Her path was one way, and his was another. Their last intersection was now. He had to make the most of it. 

Her fingers slipped under his shirt, feeling the lines of muscle over his abdomen. When she pushed him, he leaned back on his knees. She shed her jacket and shirt before pulling his off. 

The black bra he remembered from Ord Mantell covered her breasts. He dropped his mouth to her neck, licking and nibbling little moans from her. His hands came around to her back while he made his way down her chest.

"Please," she whispered. 

He wasn't sure what she was asking for, but when he unclasped her bra, she tossed the thing aside like it offended her. They fell back on the bed. Her hands were back in his hair, urging him where she wanted him. 

The keening whine that left her when he flicked his tongue over a nipple threatened to undo him. But he held himself back. If this was their one and only night, he would make sure she remembered it.

His fingers unclasped the buttons of her pants while he made circles with his tongue over her nipple. She held to his hair tightly now, almost painfully. Her breaths came in delicious gasps. He kissed a trail over to her other nipple to pay it attention and let his hand slip into her pants.

The cry she made would ring in his dreams. She was hot through the fabric of her panties, and her thighs fell open to let him feel more. His fingertips found the nub of her clit. He passed over it with light strokes, earning a string of curses. Every roll of her hips moved in time with the flicks of his tongue.

She tugged his hair until he brought his head up to kiss her again. Her mouth was desperate against his, as if she'd explode if she stopped kissing him. And when he slipped his tongue between her lips, she whimpered. Each moan vibrated in his mouth, and they grew louder when he finally slipped his hand under the thin fabric of her panties. 

Slick heat met his fingers. He groaned at the feel of her just as her head kicked back, breaking the kiss. Her breathing grew uneven and frantic. He found her clit again and teased it lightly, trying to gauge how much pressure she wanted. The urgency of her hips pressing into his hand was guidance enough. 

He licked shapes into her neck while he steadily brought her closer to the edge. She was gasping and writhing beneath him, and every sound that left her made the fire in his gut burn hotter. He wanted her to feel him for days after tonight.

When her cries grew more urgent, he withdrew his hand. The whine that left her made him chuckle. She narrowed her eyes. 

"Having fun?" she muttered, albeit breathlessly. 

He nipped at her collarbone and mumbled, "That's my line." 

She was still catching her breath while he stripped off her boots and pants. A faint flush covered her chest and cheeks, almost glowing in the dark. It got brighter when he slid her panties off her legs. 

He held her eyes while he pushed her knees apart and planted kisses along the inside of her thigh. Her hands tangled in the sheets below her, breaths coming sharp and measured now. His lips and teeth made trails of warmth along her skin, and he forced himself to go slowly up her thigh, savoring the way she looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world. 

When he finally made it to the joint where thigh met hip, she stopped breathing entirely. He licked the skin there and inched his tongue closer to where she wanted, but never quite touched.

"Kriff," she breathed. "Don't make me beg."

He smiled and hovered his mouth over the brown curls covering her core. "Why not?"

She groaned low in her throat. "You're such a—Ah!" 

Her back arched off the bed when he slipped his tongue between her folds. He held her hips down before she could move them more and found that bundle of nerves above her entrance. 

She bit into the back of her hand, stifling her moans. He worked her over slowly. It was all he could do to draw this out, to burn himself into her like she'd already done to him. Every time she got close to the edge, he backed off, let her settle, and then brought her back to edge again. 

She was shaking by the time he slipped his fingers inside her. The cry she let out was borderline a scream. He feared she might rip the bedsheets from clawing at them. 

"Please," she rasped. "Kriff, please."

He lifted his head. Her thrashing had made her hair splay out wildly around her pillow. A sheen of sweat coated her skin. Her chest heaved. She looked up at him between her eyelashes, and raw need welled in his chest at the sight. 

He stripped out of his pants, nearly tearing them off. She grabbed his face when he settled over her again and pressed her lips to his almost violently. A shiver ran through him when she licked herself from his mouth. 

Their hips fell flush, drawing moans from both of them. He was achingly hard and her wet heat was pressed against him. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. Her fingers swept over his cheek, gentle as a lover's touch. 

He pressed his forehead to hers as he lined himself up with her entrance. Her legs hooked around his thighs, and he eased forward painfully slow, savoring the feel of her. She was tight and hot and slick. Every inch deeper into her stole more of his sanity. 

When their hips met, he stared down at her. Their lips brushed. The hazel of her eyes were clear this close. And he knew in the same way he knew he could never leave the Rebellion that he'd never forget this moment for as long as he lived. 

His first thrust made electricity shoot up his spine. Her arms wrapped around him, and she buried her face in his shoulder. When he started a slow pace, her moans buzzed into his skin. He brought his hand between them to rub her clit. She tightened around him with a strangled yelp. 

He didn't bother teasing her this time. She was all taut muscle and desperation under him, and every thrust into her drew out a moan that rang louder than his heartbeat in his ears. Her nails sank into his back hard enough that they'd leave marks. He'd miss them when they healed. 

She came with a cry, her entire body writhing against him. Her internal walls pulsed around his length. He grunted when her nails scored lines down his back. His hips and hand didn't stop moving until she sank limp into the bed, riding out the waves of her release.

He pressed light kisses to her neck while she caught her breath. "Are you all right?" he murmured into her sweat-damp skin. 

"Very all right." Her voice was hoarse, and he thought he could listen to it forever.

When he started to pull out, she wrapped her legs around his thighs to stop him. He looked down at her quizzically.

"Where are you going?" she breathed. "You haven't finished."

He forced himself to hold still while she rocked her hips. "I thought you might be too sensitive to continue."

She brought her lips to his ear. "Come in me."

He dropped his head to her shoulder with a groan, biting his lip against the urge to pound into her recklessly. "Are you sure?"

Her legs pulled at his, pushing him deeper. "Please."

His hips snapped forward, making her yelp, and he started a moderate pace. She clung to him, as if holding him to her.

"More," she rasped. 

He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head to his shoulder, and thrust with everything he had. She bit into the crook of his neck to muffle herself. The bed creaked obscenely with his movements.

The familiar tightness of his release built at the base of his spine, and then he was chasing his climax. She held him captive, scorching herself into him like a brand wherever she touched. The absence of her would hurt worse, he knew, but he was too far gone to worry now. 

He couldn't help the growl that burned up his throat as he came. Shocks of his climax shot through his limbs and made his hips stutter against her. She tightened around him as he spilled into her, taking everything of him like it was hers to steal. And maybe he was hers to steal.

He was still cradling her to him when the world returned to order. Every inch of their fronts was pressed together, sticky with sweat. She gently carded her fingers through his hair, and he took a moment just to breathe her in.

A long minute passed until he found the will to let her go. She gasped softly when he pulled out, even when he was mostly soft at this point. He laid himself beside her. Their eyes met, and an odd urge filled him to beg her to stay, to give him a name, anything that could let him find her again. 

But he stayed silent. 

"Don't think," she said, echoing her earlier words. Her face was shadowed by the moonlight behind her. 

He gathered her into his arms, and she sighed into him, burrowing her face into his chest. 

This had to be enough, the end that they needed.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. She was gone before he woke, leaving only a face mask behind and traces of warmth in the sheets.

**Hour Six**

_Now..._

"Cass? Cassian, can you hear me?"

Her voice sounded far away. When did he tell her his name? They'd never given each other their names.

"Please, Cass."

Maybe he was dreaming. It'd been years since he'd dreamed of the smuggler woman. She'd left his life as quickly as she'd entered it. If he was being particularly honest, he might have admitted that she was his first love, the first one who'd ever made him feel the desire to know another and be known in return. 

"Cassian, love, please answer me."

She sounded sad. He didn't want her to be sad.

"Just hold on. Please."

He would do anything she asked. 

"Hold on."

#

_Then…_

Two years passed before he met Jyn Erso, and by then, the smuggler woman had faded to fond, but vague memories. He hadn't known what to expect when he met Jyn, but her cold stare took him aback. She looked at him with eyes aged beyond their years, eyes that could see through his pretenses like they were glass. Even from across Draven's table, held in shackles, she made him feel small and warm and fearful all at once.

The first pangs of attraction started on Jedha when she took out a group of stormtroopers with nothing but a truncheon. He'd known that she'd grown up in Saw's extremist cell, but it never quite sank in until then. 

The next pangs were ironically when she was yelling at him after Eadu. That internal fire was something he'd lost over the years, something they'd both lost until then. She'd ignited it again. 

The final pangs hit when he gathered a team for Scarif, and she looked at him with those hazel eyes like he was the whole world. He would have done anything to make her look at him like that. 

He was already lost to her when she held him on the beach at Scarif while they waited for the end. They passed out from the radiation before Bodhi scooped them off the ground in the ship and hightailed it out.

He knew he could never part from her when he woke beside her, both with fewer limbs and mirrored burns covering half their bodies. And more confoundingly, she'd felt the same.

What were the chances?

**Hour Seven**

_Now..._

"Breathe, Cassian."

She was still talking to him. Strange. 

"Cassian, please breathe."

He had to do what she wanted. 

"Breathe!"

He sucked in a breath.

The present hit him like a train. His head pounded in time with his heart. Every frantic breath he drew in burned. Something pressed around his nose and mouth. He shivered despite the heat enfolding him. 

Mismatched eyes hovered over him. The left was hazel. The right was black. They shimmered with tears. Her face wasn't quite symmetrical anymore, the right just slightly off. A harsh indent spanned that side of her jaw where the skin grafts hadn't quite taken. But she was no less beautiful.

"Jyn," he rasped weakly.

Her smile was strained. Tear stains streaked down her cheeks. "Hey." Her voice was impossibly soft.

He tried to lift a hand, but it was trapped under something. A glance down revealed he was covered in several layers of blankets. His eyes wandered around him. They were in the main cabin of Kes' shuttle, Poe's badly done drawings covering the interior. He lay on the bench in the middle of the cabin. Jyn held an oxygen mask to his face.

The past seven hours came back to him in a rush.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "I put a tracker in your arm, of course. As soon as it went dead, I knew something was wrong, so I jumped to your last known location."

He didn't believe in any gods, but his luck in meeting Jyn almost made him consider a higher power. 

"You scared the shit out of me," she murmured and wiped at her eyes. "I thought I lost you."

"Nothing in the galaxy could take me from you." He clumsily slid his working arm out from under the blanket to grasp her free hand where it threaded through his hair. Their rings clinked together. She brought their hands to rest on his chest.

He took several more deep breaths with the oxygen mask before she let him take it off. Permanent brain damage from hypoxia remained to be seen, but he seemed cognitively strong thus far. Jyn made him do a short neurological test where she dragged her nails over his feet and hand to see if he felt it normally. He sensed the heat of the blankets over him well enough to suggest his sensory nerves hadn't sustained irreparable harm. His eyes both moved in sync when Jyn made him follow her finger. 

At the end, she let out a relieved breath and rested her head on his chest. Her hair spilled over the blankets. She hadn't bothered to cut it in at least three years, so it was nearly twice the length as when he first met her. He ran his fingers through it absently.

A night long ago where he'd run his fingers through a nameless woman's hair flashed through his mind.

"Was it you?" he heard himself ask, not really believing that fate could be so kind.

Her eyes closed. "Was what me, love?"

He'd never talked about the smuggler, not even with Jyn. It wasn't intentional. The smuggler had become a bittersweet memory, buried in the chaos of his life, and the week with her joined many other half-forgotten events tinged with sorrow in his past.

"On Corellia," he said.

She sighed. "I've been to Corellia many times. You're going to have to be more specific."

He thought of hazel eyes peeking over a black mask. "Have you ever had a rebel buy you dinner on Corellia?"

Her eyes snapped open and set on him. "How did you know about that? Did you know him? You can't be jealous. That was before I even met you."

His laughter took him by surprise, and once he started, he couldn't stop. Twelve years ago, they hadn't even known each other's names. Still, she'd made such an impression on him that he hadn't wanted to lose her after just a week of knowing her.

"What's so funny?" she asked when his chuckles quieted.

"One night," he mumbled, more to himself than her. "You gave me just one night."

Her eyes widened. She hesitantly reached out a hand to cover the lower half of his face. "You…" She withdrew her hand. "You had a beard then."

"And you always had your face covered." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"As did I." Her brows pressed together as she swept her fingers over his cheek.

He searched her eyes. "What's with that face?"

"This sounds stupid, but...that week…" She let her fingers drift over his jaw. "I fell in love with you."

His heart leapt in the same way it had the first time she told him she loved him. 

"It's not stupid," he said, voice strained now. "I felt the same."

"We didn't even know the other's name." She let out a breath halfway between a chuckle and a scoff. "Kriff, we were so young. That was—what?—eleven years ago?"

"Twelve almost." He swept his thumb over the brow of her right eye—the one she'd lost on Scarif. They'd both changed so much in twelve years, but some things were the same. She still looked at him like she could see into him, even the parts he hid—though that no longer frightened him. He knew that she loved him, no matter what she saw. 

She leaned into his hand. "What brought up that night on Corellia?"

"Maybe it was the hypoxia and hypothermia, but I was thinking about it earlier." His hand wandered down to her chin. "Felt like a dream, sort of. I remembered your voice then, and when I heard you talking to me just now with the same voice, I thought to ask if you were the same person."

She gave a small smile. "Would you have been disappointed if you'd been wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, I love you. All this means is that I've loved you for longer than previously thought."

Her smile grew to a full one, and she leaned closer to kiss him softly. "I never would have guessed back then that I'd be married to you just three years later."

"I think we both assumed the worst for ourselves." He looked into her eyes. "I've never been happier to be proven wrong."

She pressed her forehead to his. "Me, too."

"I really do love you immensely," he rasped as his chest grew tight at the memory of sitting alone on his ship, waiting for the end.

"I love you, too." She brought their lips together. He leaned into her, and the ease of the kiss—practiced over a decade—was not the same as the first one they'd shared. It had aged with them, not so clumsy or hurried. They moved in sync.

When they pulled away, Cassian grinned.

"That was a pretty good night," he murmured. "Want a repeat?'

She chuckled. "Insatiable. You just narrowly avoided death."

"Well, we've got three hours until we reach Yavin 4." He wiggled his hips.

"You know, I haven't seen you in four months, and the first time I do after all that time, it's to save your sorry ass. And now all you can think of is sex."

"So...is that a no?"

She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips over the blankets. Her mechanical leg was barely heavier than her real one. 

"Of course not," she murmured with a wicked light in her eyes. "But you're not allowed to move."

**Author's Note:**

> Tangentially related to another Jyn/Cass fic of mine, The Line, but they're both standalone works.


End file.
